


my warm breath, your cold hands

by twoheadedcalf



Series: widofjord week 2020. [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Burn care, Burns, Drowning, Getting Together, I guess???, M/M, the mighty nein are only mentioned mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25017967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoheadedcalf/pseuds/twoheadedcalf
Summary: He’d genuinely thought, ever since escaping the asylum and taking up arcane studies again, that his death would be by fire. Dramatic, yes, but strangely poetic. And, more importantly, it makes sense. His wretched existence isn’t meant to last for long and fire is the only way to cleanse the world of his mistakes. Maybe it’d be by his own flame, maybe while doing something useful; finally, amendments.That’s what Caleb had thought. And yet, here he is. Glued to the corpse of a terrifying sea creature whose weight is dragging him down to the depths of the Lucidian Ocean.*day one of widofjord week: burned/drowned.
Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast
Series: widofjord week 2020. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811557
Comments: 4
Kudos: 137





	my warm breath, your cold hands

**Author's Note:**

> for the 'burned/drowned' prompt of widofjord week 2020! check them out @widofjordweek on twitter!!! hope you guys enjoy it!!

He’d genuinely thought, ever since escaping the asylum and taking up arcane studies again, that his death would be by fire. Dramatic, yes, but strangely poetic. And, more importantly, it makes sense. His wretched existence isn’t meant to last for long and fire is the only way to cleanse the world of his mistakes. Maybe it’d be by his own flame, maybe while doing something useful; finally, amendments.

That’s what Caleb had thought. And yet, here he is. Glued to the corpse of a terrifying sea creature whose weight is dragging him down to the depths of the Lucidian Ocean.

He knew it was foolish, naive of him, but during The Mighty Nein’s first foray in a ship, he couldn’t think of the ocean as anything but vast, beautiful and  _ new _ . Uncharted. He didn't have a deep interest in exploring it but he couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t wonder in his eyes when he looked out towards the horizon. Like a child with a new toy.

In this particular trip, though, they have seen little more than combat and this attack isn’t even Uk’otoa’s doing. It’s been incredibly tiring and, at the moment, Caleb can only see the ocean as dark, cold and  _ lonely _ . He thinks he might be crying but there’s no way to tell down here. 

Gods, he’s really going to lose his life to a wild,  _ dead  _ sea creature. No less than he deserves, he guesses.

His chest burns. Everything is fuzzy around the edges, and before Caleb can help it, he breathes in, gasping. Water slides down his throat. He squirms, searching for air, trying to escape. But there’s nothing other than this: his eyes watering, his throat burning, his chest heavy.

The world darkens.

* * *

Fjord is pretty sure he’s never felt this desperate in his whole life, not even after the shipwreck, not even after the third and final time Uk’otoa took away his powers.

His arms and legs already ache from how hard he’s swimming and his chest is starting to burn but he’s almost there, he knows. He’s almost reached Caleb. Caleb, whose eyes are closed and whose mouth is open. But he can’t think about that right now or he might really lose his mind.

Dear Melora, Caleb can’t be gone. He can’t. Fjord’s heart won’t be able to take it.

It takes him a split second to summon the sword after finally reaching him and he uses it to pry the creature off Caleb. The corpse drifts away, bleeding deep plum, tainting the water around them, and Fjord, wrapping his arm around Caleb, swims as hard and as fast as he can.

His speed is hindered: his legs are tired from the trip down, Caleb’s limp weight is burdensome, and he has to keep one arm wrapped around his waist at all times to drag him up.

He makes it though.  _ They _ make it. Just as his vision starts to wan, ribcage threatening to burst, they break the surface. Fjord gasps, sucking in big gulps of air. Caleb remains limp. He refuses to think about that, lest he start crying right then and there.

Fjord squeezes his eyes shut, tightens his grip on Caleb, and  _ Misty Step _ s onto The Balleater.

* * *

Caleb is pale and cold to the touch. On the deck of The Balleater, with paper thin eyelids showing blue-purple veins, and copper red hair spread around his head like a bloody halo, Caleb looks like a ghost.

He might as well just  _ be _ one — his chest isn't even rising up and down. Gods, Fjord could  _ cry _ . He might even be doing that already.

Fjord raises his hand, completely unaware of the chaos around him, staring at Caleb's marble face, and casts  _ Control Water _ . He prays to Melora that this works or else, he might really just go mad.

He pulls the water out of Caleb’s lungs carefully, slowly — he doesn’t know human anatomy — or really,  _ any _ anatomy — but he’s trying his hardest not to knock anything out of place. He doesn’t want to make anything worse.

The water comes out clean, splashing over the deck by Caleb’s side. Fjord hovers over him, watching, waiting. For a moment, two,  _ three _ , nothing happens. And then—

_ And then _ —

Caleb’s eyes snap open and he gasps, breathing,  _ finally _ breathing, coughing as he sucks in gulps of air big enough to make himself sick. A relieved smile spreads over Fjord’s face.

“ _ Hallo. _ ” He says quietly, like it’s that simple, like he didn’t just drown and almost die.

Fjord can’t help himself then; he just leans down and kisses Caleb as carefully as he can. It takes Caleb a second to respond but he does, sweet, half-formed kisses, lips soft and a little unsure.

The kiss is a private, chaste thing that Fjord loves with his whole heart.

When he pulls back there’s a smile on Caleb’s face and he stares up at Fjord, starry eyed, flushed,  _ alive _ .

* * *

They don’t talk about it because of course they don’t, why the hell would they.

It’s not awkward — if anything, their whole dynamic feels more natural than before, no weird pauses in the middle of conversations, no dancing around each other. Like the kiss was some sort of reassurance, a promise that lets them both relax.

Caleb catches Fjord staring at him sometimes: at breakfast, when no one might notice, or during watch, or when they are forced to travel the traditional way. After the first couple of time their eyes meet and he isn’t admonished, Fjord stops turning away upon being caught. 

His hazy gaze makes Caleb flush like he’s a teenager again.

* * *

Despite what his frequent pyromantic attacks might have one believe, Caleb hasn’t particularly cared for evocation in a while now. Yes, he’s proud of what he’s created but— it isn’t about that. He knows, intimately, the type of damage fire can cause. He only trusts himself to handle it because of that: because he’s scared of it, not excited about it. Fire is like an old god, the kind that should be feared and respected, not loved.

That’s why he’s always astonished to see someone else handling it so carelessly. Their enemies — a mage and a druid, he’s pretty sure — throw bolts of fire around the battlefield without any rhyme or reason to it, aiming so off center that, more than once, they almost hit each other.

It’s terrifying and rage inducing — all he wants to do is scold them both, imbue fear and responsibility into their hearts. Instead, Caleb scrambles for his components, trying to trap them in place or take them out through sheer force. Fighting fire with more fire is not that effective, he’s learned.

It actually works, at least with one of them: the  _ Cat’s Paw _ shakes the man so hard and for so long that the man in its grasp throws up and his head lolls to the side — unconscious. 

He doesn’t manage to relish the small victory or even properly take in the rest of the battlefield before a shadow rushes in front of him. Then: a flash, a pained gasp, and the smell of burning skin.

Caleb knows that scent intimately, has known it for almost two decades now. It’s sickening, in more ways than one.

He blinks his eyes open, not sure when he closed them, and Fjord is the one standing in front of him.  _ Fjord _ is the one burning.

Caleb glances over Fjord’s shoulder. The woman is there, some feet away, her hand pointed right at where they are standing. The hit was meant  _ for him _ . Something in Caleb’s chest hardens.

He raises both arms, one set, the other drawing back like he’s pulling a bow string, muttering the words to the spell in a flat voice, aim sure. Something green shimmers at the edge of his vision and he can  _ smell _ the magic.

Caleb lets go.

The spell hits true, a sickly green shimmer spreading over her skin while she screams like something invisible is scorching her. Yashan’s sword swings down and the woman stops writhing.

Caleb finally turns and looks at Fjord. He’s still standing and looks mostly okay, even if his breathing is a little labored. When he turns too, though, Caleb finally sees it: a burn spreading from his shoulder to his elbow. Not an ugly one but it’s so spread out that Caleb can’t help the dismayed noise that leaves his mouth.

Fjord shakes his head, a tired half-smile on his lips. “I’m fine, Caleb, y—”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am!”

“You clearly aren’t!”

Before the argument can progress, Caduceus arrives, patting Fjord’s unharmed shoulder, a brief pink and green glitter spreading over Fjord’s body, the scent of something floral in the air. The better part of the burn disappears but there’s still a starburst of it on his bicep.

“That’s all I’ve got today, friend.” He says and keeps walking.

“Sorry, Fjord, I’m all out of juice.” Jester adds, also passing them by.

* * *

They walk away from the open field they were setting up camp at into the forest and only stop after finding a clearing that seems both safe and comfortable enough.

Caleb volunteers himself and Fjord for first watch. Beau and Jester share a glance that he pretends not to notice.

Caleb calls him over only after the rustling dies down and everyone seems settled in their sleeping bags. Fjord walks over and sits down when Caleb pats the spare space on the log he’s sitting on.

There’s a beat.

“Let me see.”

It takes Fjord a moment to understand but then he says, “Caleb, I told you, I’m fi—”

“No, you’re not.” He interrupts, in a voice that allows for no argument. “You have an untreated burn on your arm. Now will you let me see it?”

Fjord silently turns, his injured arm to Caleb, his back to their friends.

The burned skin is a lighter shade of green than the rest of Fjord’s skin and though it doesn’t look too bad, the corner of his lips pull down and his ears press flat against his head when Caleb touches around it.

He takes out his skin and splashes the leftover cold water over the burn. Fjord doesn’t complain. Then, he takes a small metal tin out of one of his coat pockets, opens it and slides his fingers though the cream.

“It’s… I’m going to touch you now.”

Fjord clenches his jaw and nods just once.

Caleb starts spreading the ointment as gently as he can, skirting the edges first and then working his way to the center. Fjord grinds his teeth.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep! Stings just as much as before though.”

“ _ Ja _ , it’s not very relieving. But it will pass in an hour and it’ll heal right. And by tomorrow it won’t hurt at all.”

Fjord nods and untenses a little. “Didn’t know you had healing hands too.”

Caleb scoffs, stays focused on his work instead of Fjord’s handsome face painted in silver moonlight. “I don’t. I just have a few burns of my own.”

Fjord nods again and stays silent this time. Eventually the throbbing doesn’t feel as bad, just something distant and absent. He opens his eyes, not knowing when he closed them.

Caleb isn’t rubbing pommade on him anymore. Instead, his fingers wrap around Fjord’s wrist, delicate and sure.

“What, no bandages?” Fjord asks jokingly.

Caleb simply shakes his head. He’s staring in that intense way he always does. Fjord can feel the ugly brown blush he hates spreading over his cheeks.

Caleb leans in and Fjord goes completely still for several seconds, barely breathing, until soft lips brush against his cheek in a sweet kiss.

“Don’t,” Caleb begins, so close to Fjord’s skin that it tickles. “Do that again.”

Fjord blinks. “But I… I was protect—”

Caleb shuts him up with another kiss, this time to his lips. It’s sweet. It’s chaste. It makes his eyelashes flutter. It’s everything Fjord has ever wanted.

“Don’t,” Caleb starts again, their lips brushing and Fjord blinks his eyes open. Caleb is so close Fjord can see the beauty marks on his eyelids. “Ever do that again.” He finishes, squeezing Fjord’s wrist.

Fjord nods, wrapping his arms around Caleb and tucking him under his chin. Caleb lets out a shaky breath. Fjord sniffles, taking his scent in: something sweet and close to burning, like caramel. Something he’d like to get used to.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me @bicalebwidogast on twitter!! feedback is appreciated!!


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